


Dizzy Up The Girl

by KeyDog (BannedBloodOranges)



Series: Dizzy Up [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: 15 Minute Writing Challenge, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Flash fiction -15 minute writing challenge, Fluff, Friendship, Hint of Future Kirk/Uhura/Scotty, M/M, Moment in time, Moving On, Past Relationships, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Pre-Relationship, Romance, shoreleave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 02:17:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/KeyDog
Summary: Jim stayed at her flat; she let him.That was six months ago. He was still there.There was the feeling of something new, somewhere.





	Dizzy Up The Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Non-profit fun only.  
Fifteen Minute Writing Challenge without break.  
Prompt: New.

The heat was curling up Nyota's ponytail into a dry twist.

Massaging her twanging throat (from her first choir practice in years) she fixed her attention on the chrome doors of the Acadamy's science division.

She just knew Spock was going to be there if only to overlook their new recruits; he was obsessively thorough. An old girlfriend's intuition, she guessed, and maybe, after all this time, it would be prudent to say hello, to check on him. He'd taken a brief respite from New Vulcan, McCoy in tow (who, she thought, bemused, would be grateful for a break from the heat.)

Life was strange in how it spanned their estrangement. They'd lived together, the two of them, talking and sleeping and sharing time if they had any to spare. It had been a sweet purgatory, with varying shades of intensity like the pull of the tide rippling over the years. The relationship, for all it was, had the comfort and chill of a lukewarm bath. Just warm enough, but with a cold rising below the water. They'd satisfied themselves in infrequent but reasonable sex, the exchange of emotion cleverly measured, with the exact percentage of indulgence to raise her above others, enough to make her feel loved. The necklace she wore; the _tracking device,_ as McCoy had scoffed, was present on her sweat shimmered neck. 

"Nyota." Precise as always, he downed the steps toward her, his stiff-backed walk rising a nostalgia like an old childhood dream. Her hand jumped toward her necklace, fingering it lightly. She'd never met Amanda, but it was almost like the warmth of the woman lived on in the stone; a guide, if you will. Spock would say it was the harmless radiation, not the spirit of his tender-hearted mother, for it was an idea both romantic and illogical and most of all, painful. "It is acceptable to see you again."

"Good to see you, Spock," she replied, a twitch of her lips warming her cheeks. _ You old romantic. _"How are you keeping?"

"As expected." He began to walk, his slow pace a clear invitation. She fell into step beside him, her ponytail swinging to and fro. "I have been following the progress of the Enterprise crew and her missions. I see you have completed another PhD in your allocated spare time. A notable achievement, Nyota."

"I was your best student. I have a reputation to uphold."

"As to be expected."

Their conversation was light and easy. Enough space had passed between them for the prick to be poignant, as opposed to painful. But with space came a distance, with fondness in place of hard, immediate wanting. She had felt that so acutely in the beginning. Spock's cool, persistent reciprocation had fired her like no other, rose a capacity for tenderness and patience she did not believe she had in her busy, ambitious life. Seven years on, and here they were, eight months after their last mission, walking serenely side by side. At Jim's birthday, he'd voiced a desire to spend time with her, and with that, she'd entertained a reawakening of feeling, trying to nudge life into a drooping bud, even if the stem had been cut weeks before their last adventure.

But it had faltered, finally, and maybe it was time it did. He'd been called away to New Vulcan on immediate family business, and the weeks stretched onward as the single life she had begun to adjust to returned like a balm on her anxiety. After the death and horror, she was _tired_.

Jim's bright, jolly birthday gave her a reason to smile. The sunshine had burst through the windows in soft yellows and washed over her. A new ship, a new mission. If anything, it was another beginning. It was one of the reasons she wore her hair down (an illogical thing, Spock would say, as if altering her hairstyle would do anything.) She'd placed aside her pod earrings, her hair ties, let her hair rest softly about her face as opposed to scooped up and tweaking the back of her neck, a call to arms for _efficiency_ and _results_ and she was good at that, she _was._ But she hadn't wanted the weight or strain of updos, the military cut of her make up across her eyelids, the levelling shimmer of iridescent pods dangled in perfect symmetry from her ears. In a way, she wanted to return to _Nyota _in those months, revisit the cores of her herself she had neglected in the decade since she decided to join Starfleet, to carry a ship and a commission and a half-human lover on her back, to be the focus and the passion and the force of _everything. _

So, minimal makeup, loose hair, studs. A red dress so simple it was almost an insult. She had returned home to family for three weeks, kissed the heads of nieces and nephews that she had only seen behind the acrid glow of PaDDs, spoke her home language so warm and loose it was amazing she could talk anything else or would want to. After she stepped off the shuttle back in San Fransisco, she forced herself to march back to the Academy and reinstate herself back in the Starfleet choir. The next few days were spent moving Galia and Jaylah in their new apartment with Jim's help, toasting the girls' tempestuous new relationship and going on about eight bar crawls as a celebration. Monty had invited her and Jim to Scotland at the end of the week, and the thought of the grey and cold stretches of the highlands cleansed the exhaustion bone deep in her body. A world old and different but still familiar, skies where she could see the stars but feel the ground. 

Even a swearing, salty, hard wearin' sailor needed the feel of the land, at least to know it was there. To feel those harbours waiting, to understand what it was all for in the first place. She'd returned to some sort of _home. _

"Nyota?" They stood at the end of the street. Nyota fussed her necklace, feeling for the clasp. "I believe I have an appointment with my father, and after that, a dinner with Leonard. Maybe you and the Captain would care to join us."

Dr McCoy had been absent these previous months, lending his medical expertise to the settlements of New Vulcan. According to Jim, it had been a personal commission from Spock after the "bonding" they had undergone on Khrall's planet. The downside was it removed Jim's best friend. The upside was that Spock wasn't alone, a fact that quelled her lonely guilt, and Jim, who'd never been far from her mind as friend and annoyance and a Captain she trusted with her life, turned up at her door (Sulu was with his family, Chekov in Russia with a female alien with ears like bread rolls) and somehow, there hadn't been a day where they'd been apart. Jim had no place to stay, with McCoy occupied with Spock, and so her commanding officer found a place on her couch among her scatter cushions and the ugly tribble blanket her well-meaning sister in law had spent six months making. (He'd tried to mumble about a hotel and some other friends, but Gary Mitchell was a known asshat and she didn't want her friend falling back on shitty habits.)

It was an intrusion, she guessed, but Jim wasn't as messy or loud as she'd thought he'd been. He kept his aftershave and toothbrush safe in his bag, tried to make himself as small and convenient as possible. In fact, after the second day of quasi-awkward co-habitation, she arrived back from a voluntary lecture at the Academy to find the kitchen in smoke; Jim had attempted to cook her something as opposed to relying on the sad old replicator. After throwing open the windows and using the tribble blanket to douse the flames, she dragged him out the door and they traversed the promenade, walking close without a word, his hands in his jacket and the click of her boots on the pavement. He'd lost his habit of filling the empty space with sound, reckless jokes and innuendos; half a decade of command had knocked it out of him. She'd eyed him, curious. He had silence in him, the sort that spoke of a dark, a hurt, kept locked oh so carefully back from Spock, from McCoy, from the crew.

_ From me. _

The thought, unbidden, burned her. It was a burst of heat, of curiosity, incited without her consent, like a wire splitting and sparking a single flame. A tiny act of chaos.

They'd matched eyes, once. Him, in an irradiated cell. Her, within the closing of a shuttle, her fingers poised on the control pad.

_ He would do the same for us. _

Despising the silence, she had pulled him into a tiny cafe that had tried (and as it turned out, spectacularly failed) to emulate Klingon cuisine. It was barely edible, multi-tentacled pulps of meat and bright blue vegetables, and soon it became a game, the ordering of multiple dishes and drunken betting as to who could chew and then swallow. 

Jim won. 

Nyota, drunk, laughing hard and long; the burst of addled, stupid joy at the silliness of it lightened her bones. She seemed to float out of her skin, cling to the warmth of that moment, that memory. They were all still so young. Her life opened in front of each other; there were still going to be nights like this. It was going to be okay.

He stayed at her flat; she let him. 

That was six months ago.

He was still there.

"Nyota," Spock repeated gently. "Would that be an agreeable arrangement?"

"Oh..." She nodded, struck back to reality. "I'll tell Jim. He's missed Dr McCoy, you know."

"I am yet unable to deduce Leonard's reaction to the Captain's absence," Spock replied thoughtfully. "He exhibits negative behaviours when the Captain's name is mentioned in the discussion, but yet still compels to message Captain Kirk each day to request he is taking his vitamins. It is most illogical."

A barely noticeable softness eased the corner of his mouth. Nyota tilted her head but said nothing. She traced her fingertips around the chain of the necklace. Her nails caught the clasp.

"I know I mentioned it before, but..."

"Nyota." The interruption was tender but firm. "It was a gift. It is not a tradition to give back what was given. The respect and affection I have had, and now have, is still present." He placed his hands behind his back. He looked her deep in the eyes, and with a visible breath, added; "It is my wish you find happiness, Nyota."

She smiled. It wasn't without pain, but there was no sadness.

"You too." She felt light, strange as if her feet couldn't quite carry her. But it was alright. It was all going to be alright. "I'll get Jim to message Leonard. We'll both see you tonight. Until then..." She held up her hand in the Vulcan greeting. "Live long and prosper. For this afternoon, at least."

"Live long and prosper." He raised an eyebrow. "For this afternoon."

She did something she had not predicted. She walked away and did not look back.

* * *

Nyota jogged the steps from the Academy, counting them under her breath. Soon she was back on the streets, the salt spray of the water clinging to her bare arms.

She'd worn heels for the first time that summer and the slingbacks chafed her ankles. Swearing, she leant against the harbour wall, easing the buckles and sliding them off.

A rev of an engine twitched her sensitive ears. A battered moped, a bonafide antique if she ever saw one, had pulled up in the road beside her.

Jim Kirk leant over the handlebars with an easy smile. In jeans and a leather jacket, you could hardly believe he was a Starship Captain.

"Hey," He swung his leg free, patted his backseat. "Looks like you could use a lift."

She laughed despite herself, hopping over (her heel was blistered, bleeding.)

"I'm not complaining, mind." A sleepy, muffled trilling emitted from the satchel buckled to the back. "But is that safe? How old is it?"

"She doesn't look much, but she runs like a dream. You can thank Scotty for that."

"We'll see how much I can thank him when we get home in one piece." She tucked her shoes into the satchel secured to the back, careful not to dislodge a snoozing Nugget the tribble (how had he got in there?) and bumped herself up behind Jim. The plural "we" sang strangely between them.

"Everything okay?" He didn't look at her, but she sensed the unspoken question, the careful flatness of his tone.

"Yeah." She brushed down her skirt. "It's alright."

"You know..." Jim cleared his throat. "Scotty says to pack warm gear. It's going to be cold in Scotland. I don't think they've heard of summer."

"Aye," She replied. "_Slapaidh e dearg air do chnap, a ghràidh." _

He stalled the keys in the ignition and slid around to her.

"Ny, what does that..."

She kissed his cheek, the warm breath of his laughter a caress on her mouth. Jim stiffened, pulled back, the tug of his pupils searching her face with the locked silence she knew so well. Then, he took her face and hair in his hands and kissed her slow and slightly unsure, and in the acceleration of their twinned heartbeats, she felt something unlock, fall away, and begin again. 

**Author's Note:**

> slapaidh e dearg air do chnap, a ghràidh = it'll slap red on your bum, my darling.


End file.
